The Great Flat Hunt, Day 2

I have been to Hell, friends...and it is somewhere in a ground floor flat on Blackstock Road in London.

I don't think I can do today's experiences justice, I'm just so tired...exhausted...emotionally drained. A cardboard box is looking fantastic right now, for real. But, that behind said...it's still a good experience. It's horrible and exciting to launch into this, talk to agents, see them blatantly trying to flirt me into a decision, as well as not knowing whether they are being honest or straightforward.

I was asked if I participated in any girls-gone-wild naked escapades.

And I couldn't get in touch with my would-be salsa partner.

I saw 6 places today, after spending the better part of the morning pouring over internet ads and calling agents.

5 places were pretty depressing...student hovels, ex-council places (formerly run by the local gov, somewhat undesirable), odd smells, odd stains...etc.

Just before 6 I stopped off at one more place and was taken to a quaint residential neighborhood, Digsby Crescent. It was lovely, and the flat was a split level ground floor bit in a period house. It wasn't gorgeous, but the architecture was great, there was a bit of green in the back, the bedrooms were a good size, and the living room was spectacular with a 3-piece bay window looking out into the neighborhood. But it was out of our price-range. Even negotiating it down 30 pounds and extending the lease was pushing it, especially since we don't want to get stuck in a lease that was too long. What ensued for the next 2 hours was a manic rush from the flat back to the agency and then back to the house I'm staying to gather information, call the US multiple times, and pour over the details of the deal to see if making an offer was a wise decision. At first it seemed like it was, but then...it was just a bit expensive. And the bathroom was a bit dodgy. And it's big, so heating could get tough since we can't let ourselves freeze...

Terror, panic, blood pressure all on the rise. Do I make an offer, do I not? As the clock was ticking...or rather, once it had stopped ticking but I was making it tick myself (calling after closing time and whatnot), I backed away. I said I'd call in the morning. I almost felt sure this was our place, but it's expensive. It's doable, but expensive. My stomach was still churning but I came into the kitchen to have a medicinal glass of wine and the girls who were home all raised their eyebrows when I told them the situation--price, location, etc. They were optimistic that I could find something nice and a good bit cheaper. They were also positive about the amount of time I had to find said nice and good bit cheaper place.

So...what started out as a frustrating day on the phone quickly turned into a mad dash through a fair part of North East London's less attractive housing options which led to a climax that crumbled from the seismic waves of anxiety tempered with some critical thinking and positive reinforcement.

Tomorrow: hanging out on the couch while going through a few thousand ads online. Perhaps I'll pop in a movie or something.